I Like Where We Are
by bluesummerwind
Summary: Once you step through that door and turn the lock, there's nothing left to worry about anymore. Peter and Jason being Peter and Jason.


**I Like Where We Are**

Three exams in _one_ day. Who the hell gives three exams in a single day? In all fairness, history and biology were completely fine, but Peter sincerely thought he could punch Sister Mary in the face for giving a math exam. Why did math even _need_ exams. The fact that he made it through the year without dissolving into a heaping pile of apathy was miraculous enough. Why push it? He ponders his issues with calculus as he nuzzles his head into the crevice between the arm and the back of the couch that only ever sort-of-fit in their room.

Perhaps it was because McConnell nearly always ended up in the center front of the classroom during seating arrangements, and Simonds was destined for the back of the room. And when there's something as gorgeous as the back of the valedictorian's head to look at, why even bother trying to factor out 2x? If the equation was really so eager it would factor itself.

Lost in thought, Peter very nearly combusts, falls off the couch, and screams when the door swings open, but thankfully holds onto enough consciousness to avoid all three.

Avoiding a conversation about his tactfulness, he starts it off. "So why'd it take you so long to get back? I mean, if I could fail in two hours, I don't see why you-"

"I was just asking about my scholarship application. You know, you'd think for someone with no friends you'd have enough time to study for calculus."

"I have plenty of friends. Everyone's just begging to hang out with me." He pauses. "It's just a good thing that you're at the top of the list…" Jason gives him a smirk. "…perpetually."

Jason starts taking things off; some here, some there, some on top of the microwave. And of course Peter watches, because someone's got to make sure he doesn't get caught on his pants and fall over and die, or something. "So," Jason fakes a gasp, "does this mean, then, that I get to spend the entire night with you?" Peter looks unimpressed.

"You know, if you keep this up, you're not gonna be at the top anymore."

"Okay, fine." He pulls on a pair of PJ pants. "Call Barbara Streisand."

"I hate you. And she wouldn't like this one anyway," he throws that bit in there. And he's just a little bit proud of himself for knowing that.

"Don't tell me you got another scary movie," Jason says knowingly.

Peter looks completely flabbergasted, like, what! How the hell did he know? "B-but, what? How the hell did you know?"

"Well, you watch dramatic comedies, musicals, and occasionally try to throw in a horror movie. We watched Singing In the Rain last week, and it was only a matter of time before you'd attempt this again. Oh yeah, and I _know_ you." Jason gives Peter the face that reassures how much of a dork he is, and how much Jason loves him for it. "Not that we ever finish the movie because you never last more than twenty minutes without 'I have to go to the bathroom, but just go on without me, _really_.'" And Peter knows he's right, but tries to defend himself anyway.

"Well, you should be proud of yourself, you're really good at protecting people. And I just went to the bathroom, so we can try again." Jason rolls his eyes, like it's _oh-so _difficult to submit to holding Peter for an hour and a half.

"So," Jason accedes. "What did you get?" Peter, failing to get the tape into the VCR in one try, simultaneously watches Jason very unfortunately put on a shirt.

"I thought- I thought that we could- frick." he stops to struggle with the video, trying vehemently to shove it in, as if getting that tape in would make calculus decide to erase itself from the school curriculum.

Jason, getting drinks out of their mini refrigerator, announces that- "You know, typically it works better without Breakfast at Tiffany's in the VCR." Peter looks defeated.

"Thank you." He pushes the eject button and gingerly carries the video to his desk, where the case had been waiting, with such care and caution as if to suggest that Audrey Hepburn would be extremely upset if she were carried in any other fashion. "I got the first Friday the 13th movie. My mom used to watch these when I was little."

"So is this why you never want to go out on Halloween? Are you scarred?" He picks up a blanket off of the floor and prepares for Peter's inevitable descent into the couch cushions. Rain drops start to make tiny, negligible noises on the window.

Peter slides the movie in with ease this time, and then races four-or-so feet and hops onto the couch in wait of Jason's arm protectively around him. He thinks for a moment, that he's pretty lucky he has someone to protect him while he watches scary movies. Better, he imagines, than just his cat, which was his mom's only companion on those stormy nights. Tumbles wasn't very intimidating, though. A murderer definitely wouldn't have been phased.

Jason almost settles down nicely with the blanket on top of both of them a smooth, fluid motion, but then decides against it and throws the blanket on top of Peter's head as he walks away to fetch Peter's slippers. Because Peter's feet get cold.

Peter struggles to get out of the blanket under the stress weight of too many tests, and it seems as though he's fighting his way out of a cargo net and not a blanket. He finally gets his head free, though, and he decides that's the only part of his body that needs to be able to see the movie, so he stops fighting. However, when Jason offers slippers, he finds enough energy to poke his feet out of the bottom.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"Yes, I do, _buuuuut_ I don't think Barbara's coming, so I guess you can sit." Jason falls thankfully onto the padded surface and pushes Peter's arm just playfully enough to send the cocoon into a rather comfortable horizontal position. "I hope you know I'm not moving."

"Fine. But when people start dying, you're going to be the one at a loss." Peter doesn't need to hear much more. He attempts to wriggle up with a considerable amount of effort, given the circumstances. He fails. Jason leans over and manages to get his arm around Peter's shoulder, pulling him up. But Peter has a better idea. He puts every ounce of energy he possesses into a movement which pulls the slightly heavier and much more muscular body back on top of him in the rather comfortable horizontal position.

Jason allows him a victory. He inches up Peter's side to the place where the golden brown hair overflows onto perfect ears and he presses his lips accordingly. Peter smiles gently the same way he always smiles when Jason kisses him, almost certainly because he can't help it.

"Shh, the movie's on," Peter whispers, but they both know by now that their midterm schedules have worn them down to about fifteen more minutes of consciousness. Peter moves a little closer to the edge, giving just enough room for Jason's body to slide right into place against his own. Minutes pass and the only movements made are those to get a hand around someone's chest to hold them, or those to intertwine hands that didn't have any other plans that evening, or those to bury a nose into someone's hair and breathe in everything you loved about them, and their pomegranate-scented shampoo. And-

A girl screams, and both of them jump. Caught off guard. But Peter still feels safe. Even though Jason jumped too. Even though they're both just as vulnerable. It's okay.

Heads fall limp and the rain starts whispering goodnights that are much more audible after the din of the movie has faded away.


End file.
